Whether wearing a face mask will stop you from contracting COVID-19 or not, covering up your nose and mouth makes sense – even if I look like like a bonkers blogging buffoon. I will work on a more stylish look for my second attempt at a homemade mask. As they say, where I come from, owt’s better than nowt.
In my mind, it’s peace of mind, and it’s got to be better than inhaling anything COVID-19 related. Stay safe everyone.
I have square hands. I had no idea what having square hands says about a person, apart from realising that a career as a hand model would be a no-no.
Being in lockdown is forcing me to become a Domestic Goddess. I am trying, but it’s a slow process. I can’t see my hands ever baking bread or vying for the title of Master Chef any time soon. As for rushing around with a hoover and duster, its just a part of my daily lockdown routine.
Domesticity and I have never gone dishpan hand in glove. I blame it on my late mother’s ridiculous idea of sending me to a boarding Domestic Science College when I was sixteen. I was expelled before my first half term, which tells you all you need to know.
I live in a lane, rather than a street. There are seven houses close by and children live in two of them. It has a country feel about it, as there are fields around us, but the main road is only 200 yards away, and the town centre is just a twenty-minute walk.
There are constant comings and goings. We are all busy. Our lives taking us in different directions going to work, school runs, evening classes and sporting events.
We chat with each other when we pass in the lane, walking our dogs, going for a jog or a cycle ride.
‘We’re overdue a catch-up!’ We say. ‘We must get together soon.’
It all began in my early teens when I was obsessed with writing poetry. I started learning the guitar around my fourteenth birthday and began writing songs. It was a natural progression. I tried to write a rock musical instead of concentrating on my O Levels, which never made it to production.
You wake up every morning to the gentle whooshing sound of the sea underneath your water bungalow, before dropping off your deck into the clear, turquoise water. Flipping onto your back and staring up into the bluest of blue skies. It doesn’t get much better than that.
I started 2020 with newfound confidence and a steely determination to succeed in my writing goals. I’m over halfway through my second novel, a murder-mystery spoof, and was skipping and dancing my way down a road fuelled by purple patches with a finishing date of the end of April. Then, somewhere around the unfolding COVID-19 crisis in Italy, my bubble burst, and I lost my mojo. Since then, I’ve been struggling to find my funny.
One month after the British Government made the extraordinary decision to let the Cheltenham Festival go ahead, we have been fed the daily bullshit about Coronavirus affecting the older generation and those with pre-existing conditions (a category always vulnerable to infection). The latest reported COVID-19 death is a 13-year-old -schoolboy, who died alone, without his family at his bedside.
When the COVID-19 dust settles, and an investigation is held into why measures were not put into place sooner to protect the UK before the acute phase of the pandemic hit, will heads roll?
It’s Monday morning, the start of another working week, which was greeted by steely grey clouds at first light and the biting chill of a northeast wind. However, this was no ordinary morning because there was no rush hour, no scrabbling to find a parking place because as of 8.00 a.m. this morning, the small Island of Jersey, Channel Islands followed the UK’s lead, and officially went into lockdown.
In January, I was in full steam ahead writing-mode. I honestly believed I could finish book number two by the end of April. I was writing with a confidence I had never felt before, and it was a fantastic feeling. Unfortunately, my purple patch fizzled out about 3 weeks ago as the Coronavirus shit really began to hit the fan.
Perhaps I had been blinkered up to that point? Hoping Covid-19 would just go away.
Now just doesn’t feel like the right time to be writing a murder mystery spoof. So, it’s not actually the curse of the writer’s block that is to blame; it’s the Coronavirus Curse. The inability to focus on the writing that I love.
At 8.00p.m. last night we all came out of our houses to clap and cheer, as well as shedding a few tears, to show our respect and appreciation for all careworkers.
Only an eight-minute drive from my front door, a handful of doctors and nurses are working tirelessly to save lives.
It was a small, but a deeply moving gesture, from a huge amount of people. We came out in our droves, from Jersey to John o’ Groats, to show healthcare workers everywhere how much we care, and how much we appreciate the incredible job they are doing. Their selflessness know no bounds.
After an uplifting day in the sunshine yesterday, I made the mistake of checking for updates on the Government of Jersey’s social media account around midnight, and Jersey’s Heath Minister, Richard Renouf, had just posted. ‘ Sadly, this evening, I need to announce that a patient of ours […]
My pièce de résistance is probably a toss-up between tuna pasta and stew. We have only been lying low for a couple of weeks, but I have already received a few pointed comments wrapped in sarcasm and drizzled with a little innuendo.
I have more cookery books than I have ever cooked anything sensational, so I’ve no excuse, and I am making an effort.
While some people appeared to blinker themselves from the reality of these unprecedented times, there have been some incredible random acts of random kindnesses and feel-good community spirit going on.
Delivery services are popping up for both food, and other supplies, to cater for the more vulnerable in our community and those in isolation.
I fully appreciate how lucky I am living in Jersey, Channel Islands. Cue for me to thank our incredible team of doctors and nurses on Jersey’s Coronavirus front line, for what they are doing on behalf of us all.
How are you getting on out there? I’ve been wondering how we can best support each other through this surreal time.
At the beginning of this year, I rattled off the first 25,000 words of my WIP in double-quick time. I felt unstoppable, thinking I was on my way to achieving a personal-best NaNoWriMo moment. Then I stalled.
We half-ran through the bustling streets, hand in hand. The soft, south-westerly wind carried the pungent smells of cooking meat and bubbling sauces into our faces, reminding us that it’s time to eat, and we are spoilt for choice. Neon lights flash around us, the pounding heartbeat […]
After a week of soaking up the sun, I woke up to what sounded like gravel being hurled against my window this morning. Only it wasn’t gravel, it was rain/hail. It was only 5.45 a.m., which was annoying as I didn’t have to go anywhere. Still, I had five hours of sleep, instead of four.
It’s horribly surreal. Waking up to another beautiful morning and knowing the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan.
Life as we know it is about to change.
The fields around me were ploughed and planted with potatoes yesterday. Superficially, life as we know it appears to be carrying on as normal, but a big, black underbelly of invisible menace is lurking, waiting to strike.
IS IT TIME TO START ENFORCING FINES FOR PEOPLE WHO FLOUT THE SELF-ISOLATION RULES?
One woman went to a coffee shop yesterday having returned home from a holiday in Teneriffe. Another, in a similar situation, said she had run out of food, so had to go to the supermarket. Which begs the question, and just not here in Jersey, why do people have to flout the self-isolation rules when they know the lives of more vulnerable people are at stake? Does their selfishness know no bounds?
For those of us already working from home, as well as those who are self-isolating, take heart ♥. The fantastic weather we are having may be doing more than boosting our Vitamin D and taking our minds off the uncertainties for the future.